André Simon Award: Amber Revolution

In the run-up to the 40th André Simon Awards, the drinks business is running an extract from each of the shortlisted books in the drinks category. First of all, Simon Woolf tells the tale of ‘orange’ wines, their past, present and future in his book ‘Amber Revolution’.

1. A step into the void

I’m buried deep in the earth’s crust, clambering past densely packed fissures of elemental rock that drip with minerals and salty deposits. A sheer face of diagonally ribbed limestone rises up, stacked layer upon layer into the compressed fabric of millennia, of time itself. This is a primeval, ancient place, the path surely hewn by giants – or magicians wielding implements imbued with supernatural strength.

Just as the eyes adjust to the near total dark, shards of yellow light appear, illuminating a crevice, exposing a gaping void gouged out by an ancient spring. The inky blackness that lies behind it seems more impenetrable than the eye of a thunderstorm or the gravitational pull of a black hole. I take a cautious step back and bump into a conical oak vat.

And then a wine glass is pressed into my hand.

It contains a luminous amber liquid, seemingly tinged with an electric pink afterglow. The aromas hit first – they’re as bright and vital as the surroundings are dark and mysterious. A tiny sip is enough to release the life force within. Intense yet refreshing sensations crowd into the mouth with such force and complexity that the brain can scarcely process them in any meaningful fashion.

It’s truly a light-bulb moment, and I don’t know it yet but it will revolutionise my life. But what is this strange yet compelling libation? Was it fashioned by the same otherworldly spirits that created the cavernous lair all around me?

Winemaking could be said to be a kind of alchemy, but wizardry it is not – this delicious elixir had a human hand behind it. The moment was October 2011, a crisp, sunny autumn day in the village of Prepotto near Trieste. The place was Sandi Skerk’s winery, a cellar which is bored deep into the Carso region’s unyielding limestone rock, although the manner of its creation doubtless involved nothing more occult than a jackhammer and a JCB.

That day was my first conscious experience of a venerable wine style, elegantly described in Italian as vino bianco macerato – literally, macerated white wine. That being a rather technical phrase, many wine lovers now prefer the more succinct term ‘orange wine’, referring to the deeper hues that maceration brings about, which can span anything from light orange to amber gold or russet brown.